


For I Have Sinned

by AsperJasper



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Catholic Matt Murdock, Character Study, Confessional Fic, Gen, Matt is learning to love himself and he's doing it in a very catholic way, Mentions of Ableism, Post-Season/Series 03, but just mentions it isn't a focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26946784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsperJasper/pseuds/AsperJasper
Summary: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.Matt suffered under no delusions. He knew that what he was doing was sinful. He knew the itch under his skin, the way adrenaline started pumping at the sound of a good fight, the way he couldn’t help but throw himself headfirst into danger and start swinging his fists at the bad guys, he knew it was sin. Maybe pride, maybe anger, maybe something unique to him and the devil inside him, but he knew it was sin.He also knew he was making a difference. Every week there were fewer and fewer blows to land. There was still a lot, don’t get him wrong, but it seemed like more and more people were seeing his shadow and deciding it wasn’t worth it.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	For I Have Sinned

It was a game he’d played since he was a kid.

 _Bless me Father, for I have sinned_. 

Confession was an art form. A game of how close he could get to spelling it out without actually telling anybody his secrets.

And Matt was good at it.

He knew other people played the game, too. He didn’t mean to listen to other people’s confessions, but, especially when he was younger and didn’t have full control of his senses, it was unavoidable.

He wasn’t a priest, far from it, but he considered himself bound by the seal of confession as much as any priest was. Anything he heard, it didn’t matter. They were absolved, they had repented, and even though Matt knew what they had done, it didn’t matter anymore.

But he heard them play the same game he did. Dodging around the details, skirting the edges, not lying, exactly, but not telling the full truth, either. Maybe it was human nature; even while performing a sacrament with the purpose of confessing everything, it was easier to evade the truth. Easier to be absolved of something vague than to dig down and expose everything to the dim light and still air of the confessional. Easier to trust that God knew what was in your heart and if the priest knew enough to grant you penance, confession had served its purpose regardless of if the confessor had spilled every detail of their sin.

For Matt, it felt like survival.

He needed to confess, to bare his soul as much as he could force himself to. It felt good, it kept him grounded and strong in his faith, and he needed that. Even so, even with a priest bound before God to keep Matt’s secrets, he was wary of saying too much.

 _Bless me, Father, for I have sinned_.

His head tilted towards the floor, Matt could hear the priest’s breath. His heart. The way his hands settled in his lap, brushed against his robe.

Matt didn’t know this priest. He’d known Father Lantom, and Father Lantom had known him. Father Lantom had known how to pick apart Matt’s confessions and give advice that was exactly what Matt needed without Matt going into more detail.

This new priest did not.

He was kind. Younger than Father Lantom, and rather naive to Hell’s Kitchen, if his homilies were anything to go by, but he was kind. He’d made a point of greeting Matt, and he listened to Matt’s confessions and offered advice and penance, but it was clear that he didn’t understand. He hadn’t picked up on the patterns that Father Lantom had had memorized.

Which was only to be expected. Father Lantom had known Matt his entire life, and this new priest had not. He’d known Matt for four months, and Matt was just a little bit complicated for four months of sporadic confession to unravel.

This priest hadn’t seen Matt grow up, hadn’t seen him anywhere but at church, and so didn’t know what Matt was hinting at in confession.

 _Bless me, Father, for I have sinned_.

Confession wasn’t an easy sacrament. It wasn’t supposed to be. Confession was about baring yourself before the priest and before God. It was about acknowledging the things you’d done wrong, admitting that they were wrong, and that could hurt. It could be ugly, and painful, and as many times as Matt had gone to confession he would never be used to the feeling it brought to the pit of his stomach.

He wasn’t somebody who enjoyed talking about his feelings.

It was always hard to force emotions into words, and even if that wasn’t exactly what confession was about, that was how it felt. Forcing himself to verbalize the guilt that built up over time, to explain the things he’d done.

And yet he still played his game. Got as close to the truth with his words as he dared, but never quite coming out and saying it.

Maybe someday this new priest would figure him out. Guess the secrets he was alluding to, figure out that blind Matt Murdock the parishioner was the devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and realize that the sins Matt confessed to might be a little more extreme than he thought.

But until then, and maybe even after that point, Matt would duck and dodge and avoid, use vague language and make sure to never say anything that could really link him to what he did. Confess to anger, to violence, to hurting his friends, and making rash decisions that affected the people around him. Wrapped up nice and neat in slow, well thought out words. Carefully constructed sentences designed to absolve him without outing him.

Maybe that fancy law degree was good for more than business.

Matt wondered if the smile that thought brought him was audible when he started speaking.

 _Bless me, Father, for I have sinned_.

Matt suffered under no delusions. He knew that what he was doing was sinful. He knew the itch under his skin, the way adrenaline started pumping at the sound of a good fight, the way he couldn’t help but throw himself headfirst into danger and start swinging his fists at the bad guys, he knew it was sin. Maybe pride, maybe anger, maybe something unique to him and the devil inside him, but he knew it was sin.

He also knew he was making a difference. Every week there were fewer and fewer blows to land. There was still a lot, don’t get him wrong, but it seemed like more and more people were seeing his shadow and deciding it wasn’t worth it.

After Dex, it took Matt weeks to put the suit back on.

Not to get back out on the street. Hell’s Kitchen needed him more than anybody wanted to admit, and once Brett had cleared Daredevil’s name, he only had to avoid people as much as he’d ever had to.

But it felt like the suit had been tainted. It didn’t belong only to Matt, anymore, it belonged to the man who’d put it on and killed in it. Even if that man had been manipulated into believing it was all he was good for, that the only thing he was meant to do with his life was murder in somebody else’s name, because of the time that Dex had spent in the suit it had become a warning. An omen. A harbinger of death.

And Matt was not that Daredevil. He may have come close, but the real Daredevil did not and would not ever cross that line. He would not kill.

And so it took time to convince himself to put it back on. To reclaim that piece of himself and what he did.

In those weeks, though, he still went out every night. Dressed in black, taking hits like they were a penance for Dex’s sins, for the marks on the suit’s reputation.

 _Bless me, Father, for I have sinned_.

This new priest pitied Matt.

It wasn’t a new thing for Matt to sense. The strange tone in his voice, the way he took and held Matt’s hand for a moment too long every time they greeted each other, the little change in his heartbeat and shift in his breath every time he saw Matt. All things Matt had heard and felt time and time again.

Father Lantom had never pitied him. Maybe because he’d known Matt when he was little and knew how vicious Matt could be, how he could fight for and take care of himself.

This new priest didn’t know that, hadn’t sat and talked to Matt about fights he’d gotten into when he was ten and hadn’t been there through Matt fighting tooth and nail to force himself into the schools he wanted to go to and the career he wanted to build. He didn’t know how well Matt could take care of himself and didn’t know what Matt got up to after dark.

Instead, he took in the dark glasses and white cane and decided that Matt was a pitiable creature. No matter that the Matt he _did_ know had graduated Summa Cum Laude from Columbia Law, that the Matt he _did_ know was very much living his own life on his own terms successfully, because Matt was blind and therefore helpless and therefore a parishioner to be pitied and spoken to gently.

He didn’t know Matt well enough to know him by voice alone, though, so when Matt was in confession, he didn’t put on any more of a slow, gentle voice than Matt would expect from any priest in a confessional.

It was easier to talk to him when he wasn’t busy pitying Matt. Easier to gather his thoughts, to exhale and start talking, when he wasn’t trying to guess exactly what each word was making the priest think of him, trying to outthink any extra bits of pity that might emerge if Matt wasn’t careful with choosing his words.

In the confessional, when Matt sat and gathered his thoughts and started talking, he didn’t have to overthink anymore than he usually did, be careful about anything other than keeping his secrets.

 _Bless me, Father, for I have sinned_.

It hurt every step of the way, repairing the damage he’d done.

He’d made steps in the right direction, started to explicitly put his trust in Foggy and Karen, to lean on them and make an effort to take in what they had to say, rather than rushing to assume he had to do everything himself.

But he’d broken their trust, time and again, and that took time. It took effort. It took difficult conversions and carefully established boundaries.

It was hard, and it was worth it.

Five months after everything, Nelson, Murdock, and Page was getting its feet underneath itself as a law firm, and Nelson, Murdock, and Page were finding their way forward as friends.

Matt laughed, hard and long and real, for the first time in a long time five months after everything. At the way Foggy was talking, the jokes he’d made a hundred times before. At the way Karen was trying to hide her amusement behind a hand, trying and failing to avoid egging Foggy’s monologuing on.

And there was alcohol involved, but it wasn’t drunken laughter. It was kind, and funny, and for the first time in a long time, Matt felt the pit of guilt in his stomach from everything he’d put them through release. For the first time in a long time, Matt felt like he wouldn’t be lying if he said everything was going to be okay.

Because it was.

Everything was going to be okay.

It was already almost there.

 _Bless me, Father, for I have sinned_.

When Matt was younger, he’d prayed until his knees were raw. Kneeled at his bed, at a pew, and begged for forgiveness he didn’t feel like he deserved, begged for this devil inside him to be taken away, begged to be able to be the man his father had wanted him to be.

It hadn’t worked.

Matt had tried for a very long time to fight the devil inside him away, and it had never worked.

So he’d beaten it into submission instead. Twisted and forced it into something to be used for good, rather than the evil it felt like it wanted to be.

That didn’t mean it was good. He could feel it fighting against him, clawing and biting and trying its best to overcome Matt, to take him over, but he refused. He refused to let it own him. He’d made his decision, he made it every time he had a bad guy under him, out for the count and a few hits away from out for good, and he wasn’t going to change his mind.

He’d let the devil out, but it would be on his terms. In a sharp smile, a scathing remark, a hit placed to hurt more than maybe strictly necessary, but never in a death.

Matt Murdock was many things, many horrible things, but he would never be a murderer.

He would never let the devil out like that, but it still made itself known.

Matt often had a bruise on his face when he sat for confessional. Fresh stitches somewhere on his body, pain radiating from somewhere, and that was a form of penance in and of itself, but it also served as a reminder.

Of the devil inside him and what it was capable of, what _he_ was capable of.

 _Bless me, Father, for I have sinned_.

There would never be enough penance to make Mat feel absolved of his sin. He could never say enough Hail Marys, Our Fathers, never spend enough time in prayer. No matter what he did, it never felt like enough.

But he felt lighter. Better. After sitting on the bench, twisting his hands around and around the handle of his cane, forcing himself to exhale and start to speak, forcing himself to confess his sins, even as he played his evasion game like he always did, he walked away feeling better.

That was the purpose of faith, was it not?

Matt believed in God.

Maybe it was because he’d been raised in the church, but that belief was a part of him. He believed in God the Father, almighty maker of heaven and earth, and that faith grounded him. It pushed him and urged him onward, motivated him to trust and fight for something better, to believe the best of people, and to try to use the system before his fists.

But Matt also believed in the devil.

Every time he saw some new act of human depravity, the darkest example of what humans were capable of, he knew without a doubt that the devil was real.

Maybe there was a piece of it inside everybody.

Maybe some people had defeated it. Managed to do what Matt never could and expel the devil from their bodies so they didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

But Matt hadn’t. Couldn’t.

And so Matt worked with the devil. Accumulated ever more sins to confess, but forced the devil to follow his rules, abide by his choices.

Smiled viciously through the blood dripping from his face before knocking out a criminal who hadn’t tamed the devil inside himself. Took perhaps too much pleasure in being the one who did it, the one who had twisted the devil into following man’s will.

And then he sat for confession, the pain a reminder of what he was here to confess, his grip on his cane a reminder of who he was, and the priest there to bring it all together. To draw out Matt’s breath and his words, and bring him into his faith, and let him leave feeling better.

The devil at rest for once in his life.

 _Bless me, Father, for I have sinned_.

The sin was what made him human. The sin was what made everyone human, the reason for everything bad but so much good.

The sin had kept that first little girl safe. Every time Matt heard her laugh it reminded him.

The sin had brought down the Hand. Every time Matt heard the new construction where Midland Circle had been, it reminded him.

The sin had brought down Fisk. Every time Matt heard a whisper of the story on the street it reminded him.

The sin wasn’t good. It was loud and angry and threatened to overwhelm him every time he let the devil come out to play, but Matt beat it back with more force than he beat any criminal. He manipulated it into good things and refused to let it take control.

He knew who he was.

He was Matthew Michael Murdock. He was a graduate of Columbia Law, a partner at Nelson, Murdock, and Page. He was a friend and a neighbor.

All of those things came first. It could be difficult to remember, and painful to execute, but all of those things came before anything else.

He was also Daredevil. He was a vigilante. He was a violent, brutal fighter who operated outside of the law but had lines he would never cross. He was somebody with a strict moral code and a strong enough resolve to stick to it even when the devil roared to be let out.

But first and foremost, he was Matt.

He was somebody working to be better at all of the things he was, and piece by piece it was coming together. He was Matt, and Matt had friends. Matt laughed. Matt shared inside jokes between moments of hard work on a case. Matt trusted his friends with all of himself. Matt was working on forcing himself to ask for help when he needed it.

It hurt. It was painful. It was hard.

Forcing himself to unlearn and work against everything so ingrained in him for so long wasn’t fun.

But it was making him into a person he was proud to be.

 _Bless me, Father, for I have sinned_.

But despite the sin, he was okay.

He was Matt Murdock, son of Battlin’ Jack Murdock and son of Hell’s Kitchen. He was a sinner, but he was good.

And that was enough.

To be good was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> helllllooooooo daredevil fandom! tis I, your friendly neighborhood Matt Murdock simp, here to present a character study because I can't love a character without writing at least one fic like this sjgjshf. I'm just a ho for a good character study with a repetitive theme and I'm also a ho for Matt Murdock learning to love himself. Next step is therapy buddy, you're getting there! Anyway I love him!
> 
> Comments are much appreciated! It's really just so nice to hear what people have to say about my writing, you know? I love all of you! Not just the comments everyone who takes time out their day to read what I've written, you're perfect and flawless and I adore you! It's like four am and I should really be asleep so I hope this isn't too incoherent ajgshjgfs this fic came out all at once and I had to get it down so here we are, you know?
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr @matt-murdok, where I can be seen losing my mind over Matt at all hours!


End file.
